


All That Remains

by Eline (Sans_Souci)



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Aftermath, Comfort Sex, F/M, Future Fic, Other, R2 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-30
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Eline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future fic. What do defenders of justice do on their days off? Zero/C.C, Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. True Faith

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Qn: What do masked symbols of justice do on their days off?

Ans: They go off somewhere brood. Like Batman.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The man known as Zero walked out into the bustling streets of Tokyo, anonymous in the crowd. 

It had been a while since he had shed the persona of Zero for any amount of time. The past year had been a flurry of summits and conferences to address the pressing issue of food shortages due to the lack of arable land. They involved a lot of arguing between grown men and women who ought to know better, but were thankfully free of sabre-rattling. The technological debates had been mainly about the new generation of solar panels and the newest species of genetically modified potatoes.

The last emergency of any note had been the spate of viral internet videos released on the 20th anniversary of the end of the war. Nunnally had been upset even though she took care not to let it show. 

From an entirely clinical point of view, it was a very well-staged assassination. A very public and above all dramatic ending. He doubted that he would ever be able to pull that kind of stunt again. Age had its drawbacks.

Behind the mask, he had been calculating the inevitable backlash, how long the furour would last before it died down again. It was a small thing. Nothing to be overly concerned about. Some teenagers with too much time on their hands and access to some of the many copies of the news footage of that infamous scene would get a slap on the wrist for being "culturally and racially insensitive". It was nothing that Schneizel could not handle with discretion and tact that Zero lacked.

The part of him that was not Zero had cringed. He could barely stand being in the same room as Nunnally, knowing that she was remembering that awful day.

That had been two months ago. With the United Federation of Nations Summit now behind her, Nunnally vi Britannia was taking a well-deserved vacation in the south of France and Zero had faded back to wherever he went when he was not safeguarding justice. Sayoko and her apprentice were more than competent as bodyguards and the Ambassador at Large was far less of a target than Empress Nunnally.

It had been her idea. Barely one year into her reign, Nunnally vi Britannia abolished the title of Emperor/Empress, choosing the less controversial title of Head of State. She had pointed out--correctly as it turned out--that negotiations where a little hard to conduct with the title of "Empress" hanging over her head.

Woe betide anyone who thought that Nunnally vi Britannia sans her title was a pushover. There had been something disconcerting about the sixteen-year old girl in a wheelchair cheerfully proposing to convert military Knightmare Frames into farming and construction drones that kept people off-balance long enough for them to agree and sign the documents. 

But that had been twenty years ago. Nunnally had handed over the role of Head of State to Christina Morgan--Britannia's first democratically elected Prime Minster--a decade ago and changed portfolios. As Ambassador at Large, Nunnally represented Britannia at United Nations conferences and wielded diplomacy like a surgeon with a laser-scalpel. There was still something about the lady in the wheelchair that made people sit up and pay attention.

He knew what price had been paid for that kind of strength. Time had blunted the sting of old wounds, but they were still there.

Time had also ensured that memories had faded. With the inevitable aging that came with the years, he did not even need to wear contact lenses and stock up on hair dye in order to go out without the mask anymore.

It had been difficult at first. He had no identity and clung to the one he had been given. He had no idea of how to approach the world without the costume and the voice modifier built into the mask. He had even become accustomed to the dramatic cape flourishes despite the initial phase when a part of him had been quietly dying of embarrassment every time he did it.

Ludicrous as the costume was, it represented justice. It was who he was.

Nunnally had been concerned. It was not healthy to be submerged inside a false persona for so long, she had said. And the world had to learn not always to depend on Zero. 

He agreed to her terms because she would have called him by his old name next and he did not need to resurrect that old ghost.

So when justice's staunchest defender was not required, Zero turned into, irony of ironies, an ordinary Japanese citizen with an identity that was more fake than the mask he wore. Those times were becoming more frequent as of late.

If the question of his identity ever arose, he had an identity card, credit cards and an employee pass naming him as Satou Ryou, a Tokyoite who worked for an international outsourcing logistics company. Satou Ryou's job required him to travel a lot and his biometric passport was very well-used.

But because Nunnally’s influence could not supplant the _geass_ he carried, Satou Ryou had very few friends and even fewer relationships. He knew the manager of the apartment block he lived in. The cleaner and the night-watchman. The old woman on the third floor with the two cats.

Satou, Zero thought, was a loner when he was not immersed in his work. And probably fairly inept when it came to personal relationships. Which was not surprising as he practically lived out of his suitcase. All he cared about was his work and when the next call would come for him to pack his suitcase again and head for the airport. The one thing the man had going for him was that he had better fashion sense than Zero.

In his jeans, casual shirt and jacket, he was considered "well-preserved" and “fairly handsome” by his female neighbours. They had all given up on him by now. The whole apartment block probably thought he was gay. A rumour he did not bother to discourage even after the man from the seventh floor had tried to chat him up and had been met with a blank stare.

Safe in his mundane persona, he walked briskly down the road to the small park by the river embankment. He thought better when he was moving--that would never change. As the sun made its way down to the horizon, the streets around him started to fill up with the after-office crowds. People hurrying home from work. Students hurrying out to meet their friends. Enjoying the normality that came with peace.

Ironically, it had been peace that that brought on the frequent periods of inactivity for Zero. In the year after the great war, there was no question of how much the world needed a symbol for justice during those turbulent times. But as time passed, with Schneizel working behind the scenes and Nunnally as an advocate of peace, Britannia was well on the way to mending her former reputation as a greedy imperialist nation. 

Zero was the champion of the oppressed, but with Britannia no longer oppressing its freed ex-colonies, the people had turned their hands to repairing the wounds of the war. There were still local disputes and deep-seated issues that had been simmering long before Britannia had embarked on her bloody path of conquest, but the UFN had become rather adept at mediation over the years.

Zero’s role, he realised, was more of a symbol than ever before. Would there be a day when such symbols would not be needed? It was Nunnally’s optimistic dream, he knew, but as Schneizel had so succinctly put it, people had very short memories.

He had a vision of himself as Satou Ryou, aged sixty-five, living in the same flat in the same apartment block with half a dozen spoiled cats. It was . . . not what he had anticipated. Granted, he had never imagined that he would live that long, but after the girl at the newsstand had jokingly called him “uncle” when he went to buy a bottle of tea, he was feeling his age for the first time.

That costume was going to be a real pain to manage at age sixty-five.

But it was his curse, his _geass_. To be the eternal defender of justice.

It had been Sayoko who had planted the idea in his head when she had chosen her niece as her apprentice. Not to succeed her as personal assistant to the Ambassador at Large as everyone thought, but as the successor to the Shinozaki Ryuu. Yes, traditions were important. He had been brought up in a traditional Japanese household after all and traditions had to be passed on to the next generation.

But who in the world would want to live under this _geass_? 

Neutral justice. Colour-blind, incorruptible and faceless. A man who had his last semi-friendly conversation with an eccentric scientist over the new-fangled power generator he was designing three days ago. 

Walking along the embankment, he skirted the couples, the groups of students and the occasional family going out for dinner. It was there that he saw her, standing by the park fountain as though she was waiting for someone. 

She was no older than the last time he saw her. Dressed according to the current (recycled) trend of pencil-skirts, ankle boots and faux leather fitted jackets with a jaunty cap perched atop her long hair, she looked like any other urban denizen of Tokyo.

After the initial shock, he realised that they would draw attention if they stood there for too long.

"We should go somewhere to sit down. Have you have dinner yet?"

"You're treating, right?"

"Pizza, right?"

"But of course."

He could not help but smile a little at that as they walked down the embankment together.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


	2. How Soon Is Now?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They chose a restaurant well away from the main thoroughfares that served thin-crust pizzas with an almost drinkable house red. For all intents and purposes, they looked like a couple out on a date.

No, they were not friends. Accomplices, perhaps, but not friends.

After ordering and politely sipping their drinks, they faced each other over the plastic red-checked table cloth and clichéd candle-in-a-wine-bottle for the even more daunting task of making small-talk. 

"So how are you, whoever-it-is-you-are-now?"

"Boring. I'm a very boring person with a boring job that no-one ever asks about."

"And what are you when you're not this person?"

His answer made her laugh--a pleasant tinkling sound echoing around the candlelit corner they sat in.

"You sound like some pompous superhero in tights. But Batman had a more gravelly voice in the movies."

Ugh--tights. He supposed that he was lucky that being Zero had not involved tights.

“Do you have a secret lair? Secret passages?”

“Yes.” Not just one. Just in case. Always just in case.

Shifting the focus of the conversation, she talked about her travels around Europe. How the strudel no longer tasted as good as it did when she had last been there. How the works of Leonardo were still as impressive as they were when she had first seen them. She had done an Artic tour to see the last icebergs--such a shame about global warming.

The places and names in her narrative were familiar to him in the same way that exotic locales were familiar to a casual reader of travelogues. He had travelled to many cities and countries as Zero, but the taste of the local cuisine and the nuances of their various cultures eluded him. The next summit to review greenhouse gas emission protocols would be held in Geneva next month and Nunnally had said that his presence would be much more useful in Tunisia during the mediation talks for the African territorial disputes. They could be selective about how he would deployed now. He usually left the final decision to Schneizel.

“So you’re on leave now?” she asked, toying with a breadstick.

“For about three weeks.” Actually, Nunnally had told him to take three weeks off. She was concerned about him becoming a workaholic. It was a bit too late though.

“You should try doing a European tour.”

“Maybe . . . but my vacations tend to become working ones.” His choice. He came back to Japan, ostensibly because he missed his native land. That was true enough but he kept his ear on the ground, “coincidentally” bumping into members of the old guard now and then.

They kept the deception alive even though they spoke occasionally to a man named Satou from Tokyo who just happened to be in the neighbourhood at that time. They might not have agreed with the methods, but they were not going to argue about the end result.

He might admit that he took some nostalgic pleasure in seeing familiar faces. See the life that they had created in the aftermath of the war growing year by year. A reminder of what he was fighting for.

A European tour might turn out to be a fact-finding mission. She knew this and let it go.

The pizza came. She ate most of it. They declined the dessert menu and the decanter of wine the waiter offered.

“I have a room nearby,” she said. He nodded and signalled for the bill. Some privacy was required if they were going to talk about anything more serious than the scenery in Zurich.

She was staying at one of the non-descript two-star business hotels near the train station. The receptionist who nodded at them on the way in was the only soul they encountered before they reached the room on the fifth floor.

The small hotel room was a clone of all the other rooms around them. Double bed, plastic-container-combination-bathroom and complimentary guest slippers. He almost expected to see the large orange plush on the bed.

"I can't bring Cheese-kun around anymore--he's a collector's item now," she said. He realised that he was being too obvious.

“Really?”

“Easily fifty-thousand yen on the online auctions.”

She took her jacket and cap off unhurriedly while he set their shoes neatly by the side of the narrow entry way. Old habits died hard.

"Such a good Japanese boy," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and freeing her long, long hair from its pins.

“Traditional upbringing,” he said agreeably before moving to the bed and sitting where she indicated.

“Good customs should be kept.” she said, leaning against him.

“Aa.” He fingered a strand of green hair, aware of her closeness and her warmth. “Did you go down to the school?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Fabric rustled as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Same reason as you. Maybe just for old times’ sake.”

He supposed she was attractive in a perky way. If one did not know what she was, there might have been something alluring about those golden eyes.

It was strangely normal. He helped her to slip off her skirt and her stockings, tracing the curves of her hips and calves with his hands before settling on the bed.

She sighed into his mouth as they shared a kiss, pliant and soft in his arms. Unfamiliar as it was, this was for old times’ sake. She was all curves and unblemished skin--except for that scar that he ignored for the time being.

It had been a rather long time since--

Since that day. Before the sun came up and banished all shadows and ghosts. Before a hero slew a dragon that had threatened to burn the world.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


	3. Only When I Lose Myself

* * * * * * * * * * * *

She had many lovers before. The hordes of men and women who had thrown themselves at her while under the spell of her _Geass_. The odd dalliance over the long centuries. The . . . current state of affairs. But she had never with slept with a dead man until now.

The human mind was a lot more powerful than most people knew. Its ability to influence the body’s physiology had only been sketchily documented. The miracles it could produce had been ridiculed by scepticism. The tragedies it hid would never see the light of day.

This was not Zero she held in her arms. This was somebody else, someone forgotten. Someone who shared the secret that lingered between them for so long.

She had not taken a lover in two decades. The years had been kind to him, all things considered. He had always been athletic and his body was pleasing enough to get some of the Renaissance masters hot and bothered.

It was . . . different. She knew about the two of them. In those scant hours before the end. Beyond grief and beyond hope. Strangely pure despite all the blood that had stained their hands. It was different from what she had, so she had never felt remotely envious. 

But he had shared something in common with her and even that was enough for them. It was rather sad, the two of them desperately grasping for scraps at life’s banquet like starving animals. But it was enough.

No, not for them the satisfaction of a warm bed with a flesh-and-blood lover in it. They were cursed. They both knew what it was like, to search for what was missing and knowing very well that they would never attain it.

She did not wonder about the last time he had given in to raw emotion. He did not ask about the last time she had held a warm body the way she did now, with him between her thighs with the taste of her on his lips.

It had been a very long time. She arched under his tongue, spreading her legs wider. Silently coaxing him inside her. He moved without prompting. Her grabbing his shoulders to hold him close as her climax built within her.

She was not going to pretend that--

He would not pretend that--

Fortunately, it was over before they could overanalyse why they were doing this. It was enough. For now.

They took a shower to get themselves presentable again. It was only polite to reciprocate when a man offered to wash your back.

Under the warm spray of the shower, his hand traced the scar under her breasts as the suds rinsed away.

“I haven’t given the power to anyone since then,” she said to the moisture-studded wall. 

He knew what that meant.

“Eternity’s not so bad. In the right company,” she said, in case he felt any pity for her. 

“Aah. I see.” About as much pity as she felt for him apparently.

They towelled off and sat on the bed in the hotel-issued one-size-fits-everyone robes as she dried her hair.

She listened, over the whirring of the hairdryer, to his concerns about how Zero would continue on as a symbol of justice. Some men were the same no matter what century it was. Sleep with them once and they unloaded on you. So he was not actually talking about himself per say--because this was larger than one individual alone--and she was one of the few people who would not think that he was crazy--crazier than he had been--right off the bat, but it still fell under the domain of “male things”.

“Schneizel’s right,” she said at one point. “People always forget. The fifty-year cycle and all that.”

“So you think there’s only thirty years left before the end of peace?”

“Less than that.” And that was her most optimistic prediction. She had seen it happen too many times already.

He fell silent then, obviously mulling over the problem in his head. She did not need to read his mind to know what he was thinking.

“There’s another way. Another option, if you choose it,” she said, setting down the hairdryer. “If you want--”

“No--” Lightening fast, he had her wrist pinned to the mattress before she could complete the sentence. Several heartbeats passed as they remained locked in a frozen struggle, but she made no sound even though his fingers were digging painfully into her flesh. She met his wide-eyed glare coolly--she had stared down worse before. But this could qualify for the top five spots.

He chose to back down first.

“No, not like that,” he said with an apologetic smile as he released her wrist. “I know you offered because you wanted to help, but not like that.”

“I’m glad my intentions weren’t misunderstood,” she said dryly as she massaged her wrist.

“It can’t be done that way,” he said, almost as though he was trying to convince himself. “Zero has to live on . . . in someone else.”

“It still means someone has to ‘die’ to become Zero,” she pointed out. More than one, if she read him right. That old plan again.

A small sacrifice to him, no doubt. She felt sorry the moment she thought that. He could not help what he was.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He got up from the bed and dressed absent-mindedly. No doubt he was formulating some scheme to recruit some already-damaged kid or something similar. But she was not overly concerned. Justice was blind and impartial, even to its mortal avatar.

“Will you stay?” It was the closest she had ever come to asking him for anything.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He thought he would dream in her company, in her bed. Dreams of blood and swords interspaced with the sound of cheers. He did not dream while they lay together. He wondered if he would wake up in tears, mourning what was lost once again. He did not dream.   
It was probably one of the most restful nights he had experienced. He had not slept like this since he was ten--

Oh, but this _was_ a dream. He was dreaming that he was asleep.

_He stood up and walked a little further, drawn by a flickering orange light ahead of him._

_It was a campfire. A tent made of old blankets strung from tree branches sagged cheerfully as a backdrop. There would be places for three small individuals inside, as well as a hole leading to a subterranean cave in case of rainy weather. He knew this the same way he knew the trees and stones around him. He knew where this place was. He knew what time this was. He knew how old he was._

_A high-pitched voice called his name._

_He knew who he was--_

_The world shifted around him. Not unpleasantly though. It was now day and the sun was high in the sky._

_This too was familiar. There were three children at the foot of the tree, exhausted from an afternoon of play. An air of sleepy contentedness pervaded the small tableau, as well as the fragrance of crushed grass and wildflowers--some of which still decorated their hair and clothing._

_And now he knew whose dream he was in--_

He awoke, oddly refreshed the next morning. The idea of sushi and miso soup for breakfast was suddenly very appealing. The three weeks of leave were full of potential. He had an idea about going hiking in the mountains around Kyoto and “accidentally” stumbling across the old shrine--he knew that his feet would lead him back there, somehow or other. 

And perhaps he would go down to the school campus soon, to the building that used to be the former Student Council Clubhouse. There was a place in the garden behind the Clubhouse that contained a single unremarkable stone bench set before a solitary patch of grass--

_Although the reality was this--one week later, an outbreak of a particularly lethal mutant strain of the H3N2 virus would be reported along the Sino-Indian border and the Black Knights would be overseeing a mission delivering vaccines and medicines in ten days’ time. Zero would head over by private jet and under the auspices of peacekeeping, investigate the outbreak for any signs that it might have been a case of bio-terrorism aimed at destabilising the region. Hiking would have to take a backseat. As would other matters._

Still reclining on the bed as he got dressed, she declined the invitation to go to the wholesale market for breakfast. He supposed she was saving herself for when the nearest pizza restaurant opened.

He paused at the threshold on the way out. "Tell him that the outfit really chaffs when I have to run in it."

The door closed with a muffled click, leaving the witch alone.

"Tch . . ." C.C. said, flopping over onto her back to stare at the ceiling. The dormant awareness within her had reacted--the mental equivalent of shifting about while asleep. But to a witch, it might as well have been a shout. "Such language. I know Marianne taught you better than that . . . And I don't think he needs to lose weight. You've never complained about _that_ before--"

A long pause ensued. 

“Well, you were right. He didn’t want the power or the Code. So where are we going now? The south of France? You know, your big-brother complex was and is still creepy . . .”

The ripples subsided and there was silence again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You-don’t-really-want-to-read-these-end-notes:  
> \- OT3! My ship goeth under, but I'll still have fanfic to help me work through it.  
> \- C.C.--still a cradle-robber. (But to be fair, there probably isn’t anyone around her age alive anymore.)  
> \- Yes, that was rather crack-y in the end. I have my kinks and they include Lelouch in the World of C.


End file.
